


Time and Again

by Leni Jess (Leni_Jess)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: snapelyholidays, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-10
Updated: 2012-01-10
Packaged: 2017-10-29 08:23:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/317775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leni_Jess/pseuds/Leni%20Jess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three ways Hermione Granger failed to rescue Severus Snape, and one way she did.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Time and Again

**Author's Note:**

> Written December 2011 for snapelyholidays for prayer_at_night. The story just doesn't seem to go beyond hints of UST. (Severus, Hermione near-as-dammit gen; some background unexplicit Ron/Hermione.) Epilogue compliant in the letter if not the spirit.
> 
> Thanks to my patient beta reader (my brother)! Thanks also to the endlessly patient Mods, for (what else) endless patience. For the reader's information, Easter in 1998 began on 10 April. The battle of Hogwarts, JKR assures us, began on 1 May.

  
**Prologue**   


Hermione stood braced above the Hufflepuff cup with its Horcrux, the basilisk fang held high and gripped firmly.

Ron was muttering, "Kill it, Hermione; kill it!" He sounded more alarmed than enthusiastic, though it had been his idea she should be the one to do it.

Then she began to understand why both Ron and Harry had found killing Horcruxes both difficult and frightening. The thing _screamed_ , making her flinch from the volume of sound and from the malevolence it held. Then it began to talk. That was worse, once she understood who it was warning her about.

"He will betray you; you can never trust him."

She knew Ron had this nasty habit of walking out when he found the going too hard, or even when he imagined himself belittled by his friends. He had behaved well today, and not just in reminding them that the house-elves should be warned to seek safety; but she knew quite well he hadn't kicked the habit. _When_ she had evidence that he had, she might follow up on that impulsive kiss of gratitude she had given him, which had morphed so surprisingly into passion. As far as she was concerned, when it came to choosing a life-partner, reliability trumped passion, never mind infatuation. Her parents, after all, had spent a lot of time and energy ensuring that she should feel that way. She might never see them again. In this, she would follow their guidance, be their good daughter.

So the Horcrux needn't have bothered. If that was all it had to say… She gripped the fang tightly again, raising it a little higher.

The Horcrux raised its voice to a scraping scream that forced a shudder down her spine. "You can never trust him! Who ever could? He killed everyone he ever claimed to love!"

What?

"He will sell you: for silver, for fear, for favour, for a moment's advantage."

That was certainly nonsense. Or not Ron it was maligning, at least. Who…? Then the words "killed everyone he ever claimed to love" struck home.

The idiot soul fragment must be going on about Snape. Who might indeed have betrayed Lily, but not, she was still convinced, on purpose. So maybe his motive for killing Dumbledore needed looking into, or this slander wouldn't have much point.

She could just hear Ron babbling, "It's lying, Hermione; don't believe it!"

Was he hearing the same words she was? Or had he just heard that first statement, and panicked, guiltily aware of betraying Harry and herself? Even if he did come back – and just in time to rescue Harry from his own attack of idiocy. Boys.

So if the damned thing was talking about Snape, where had it got the idea that she would care? Was it reaching into her mind, pulling out the thoughts that still squirreled around there, on the darkest and bleakest of nights? Her wondering whether Snape was, still, somehow, faithful to Dumbledore and Dumbledore's purpose, and whether she should be supporting him still, despite appearances? Since Voldemort had appointed Snape as Headmaster of Hogwarts, he had certainly trusted him, and that trust should make it easier for Snape if he was still following Dumbledore's plan, whatever it might be.

Legilimency by another human being was bad enough, but by a blackened scrap of soul? Nothing doing.

Ron and the Horcrux babbled together: "Merlin's sake, Hermione, don't just stand there!" and "He'll fuck you and run, taking everything you have and are from you. You're only a Mudblood, not even a halfblood like him…"

That bastard fragment was digging far too deep, into idle thoughts and half-sleeping fevered imaginings. Enough.

The basilisk fang came down on the gold cup, piercing its base, crumpling it, and striking through to the rock the cup sat upon.

Hermione gasped as the shock of her blow was transmitted back up her arms, and involuntarily dropped her weapon. She scrambled for it, but it wasn't necessary: one last scream was cut off, and a little bitumen-like stuff leaked from the side of the cup, though it had no hollow part which might have held it. Ick.

She needed to talk to Snape. Perhaps they would both survive the battle to come.

∞∞Ω∞∞

  


  
**#1 The Survivor**   


When it was all over, and Harry had disappeared for some peace and quiet with Luna's help, and the Weasleys folded Ron into their tight family group while somehow pushing her slowly out, Hermione went to find Professor McGonagall.

Voldemort had said he had killed Snape, and he had certainly looked dead when the three of them had left him in the Shrieking Shack. But if Snape was indeed Dumbledore's man, and Harry's protector, why had he not appeared with Harry's parents and their friends, whe Harry had summoned them with the Resurrection Stone? He had, after all, done considerably more for Harry than either Sirius or Remus had. Maybe Snape wasn't dead. Or hadn't been dead then.

What she needed was a Time-Turner, to give him the best possible chance to live.

The nearest Time-Turner she knew of was the one Minerva McGonagall had loaned her in third year. Since then, though, she had concluded that all of the teaching staff – certainly the Heads of House – used Time-Turners regularly, as the only possible way of getting through their work-load. The Department of Mysteries's stock of Time-Turners had been destroyed in her fifth year, but she would bet the teachers had held onto theirs like grim death.

Minerva McGonagall was easy enough to find: moving around the groups of children who were almost adults, and of parents who had either fought with or come looking for their children. Nearly all purebloods, of course, though Hermione saw Dean's parents, one wizarding, one not, as well as Dennis and his parents, grieving for Colin, and Justin with his Muggle parents, looking wildly out of place, but clinging gladly to their son. When Hermione was close enough, she could hear that the Deputy Headmistress was sympathising with losses, praising defenders of the school, and promising that it would restored for a new school year, if not by the first of September.

"Hermione!" McGonagall sounded very pleased. "Oh my dear, you're all three of you safe! I'm so proud of you!"

"We made a lot of mistakes," Hermione said, looking back, as she had been compulsively doing for months.

"But you succeeded. That's what counts."

Hermione shook her head. "There are some people who might be still with us, if we'd been cleverer."

The determined good cheer dropped away, and for a few moments Hermione saw a very weary woman, who was conscious of her own mistakes and losses, before McGonagall said quietly, "They would forgive you, I think, as I shall pray they will forgive me, with far less reason. We all make mistakes, Miss Granger."

Seizing her moment, Hermione said, "I may be able to fix one mistake we have all made. If you can lend me a Time-Turner."

That got her a decidedly Headmistressy look, so Hermione went on quickly, "We left Professor Snape in the Shrieking Shack, believing he was dead. But I think, now, he isn't. Wasn't. If I go back, I may be able to keep him alive."

Minerva McGonagall breathed in hard, then quelled the hope that for a moment illuminated her face. "There are no more Time-Turners, the Department of Mysteries says –"

Ruthlessly Hermione set out her reasons for believing that Hogwarts staff had access to Time-Turners, no matter what had happened that night the Department of Mysteries had been invaded by both Death Eaters and school-children. Professor McGonagall didn't try to equivocate further.

"You're correct, of course, though if anyone else has worked it out they haven't said so. But for that purpose, my dear, yes, I shall lend you my Time-Turner – rather than the student one you used in third year. But you must do more than go back: you should take all the potions and medical equipment he may need. I only wish I could ask Poppy to go with you, but," her voice faltered, "there are too many people in the Infirmary, who still desperately need her help, and help from the Healers from St Mungo's who've Flooed in."

Hermione nodded acceptance. "Would Madam Pomfrey have time to select the potions and equipment for me?"

"I will ask her to do so. We both owe Severus that much. I owe him everything I can do, after having lost my faith in his goodwill, which was even greater than I once thought, as Harry and Voldemort between them made clear to everyone. But I shouldn't leave the Hall for long; so many people need reassurance, and I seem to be one of the few, barring Kingsley, who has serious work of his own to do, who can give it. Repairing that loss of faith cannot be set aside for our colleague, either; he'd understand. He gave everything to save our world, to help these children.

"Come. You took Poppy's classes in your sixth year, didn't you, on emergency mediwzardry?"

Hermione nodded again, as they both headed briskly for the stairs.

"Good. I shall pray for your success, but, Hermione – don't be too disappointed if you fail. He would certainly forgive that, and be ready to thank you for trying."

"It would be better if I can emulate him, and succeed," Hermione returned. "Someone should do something for him, for a change."

She heard a quietly suppressed sniff, and another, so she did not look around. Neither spoke before they entered the Infirmary.

It did not take long before Hermione was fully equipped, and instructed in the possibilities Madam Pomfrey thought she might encounter. Then they went to Professor McGonagall's office, where she extracted a Time-Turner from a fiercely warded, unobtrusive drawer. She too made sure that Hermione was clear on its use, its possibilities, and its options.

"These won't take a person more than twenty-four hours back. They were designed to allow staff to keep up with the demands of teaching and student supervision in a school that's never been properly staffed.

"One thing you should remember, though: if you can't save him, you can use the Time-Turner to come back alone. We can retrieve his body soon enough, respectfully enough. But if you _can_ save him, _don't_ try to bring him back. Live through those four hours or so, as unobserved as you both may, and then bring him to Poppy."

"He shouldn't wait for better attention than I can give," Hermione objected.

"He'll have to," Professor McGonagall said grimly. "There are rumours that some very sophisticated Time-Turners can bring a person forward through time, in the company of someone who's used one to go back; but this one, as I said, has quite limited uses. It's a risk you must take. The alternative would be worse. You might lose him on the return journey, or he might never set out on it with you. I don't know."

"Very well," Hermione assented, her heart sinking at the thought that Professor Snape would have to live through those hours with no better assistance than she could give.

Further delay was undesirable, so Hermione set off with Madam Pomfrey's gear for the Shack, able to Apparate to its door, since the anti-Apparation wards were still down. The place looked both better and worse in the early morning sunlight, though she would be seeing it by the full moon in a few moments. She used the Time-Turner to take her back four hours: no finer tuning was possible, and she didn't want to arrive before Professor Snape had, and run the risk of being discovered by Voldemort himself.

Then Hermione pushed her way in, looking at the back wall where Professor Snape had been collapsed when she and Harry and Ron had set off again down the passage to the Whomping Willow.

He wasn't there. A quick _Lumos_ confirmed that his body wasn't simply hidden by shadow.

Hermione looked around wildly, unable to believe that he was gone.

Then she set her teeth and used the first of a series of revealing charms, just in case Professor Snape, in his awareness of being helpless, had managed to Disillusion himself for greater safety. Still no body. Plenty of blood, sticky and horridly copious, but no body, and no wand, either.

After trying still more spells, desperately holding back panic, Hermione paused, and recognised that the wand's absence might be as significant as Professor Snape's.

Had he, somehow, staggered away? Had he recovered enough strength, or summoned enough determination, to Apparate to safety? (And if so, had he reached it, or collapsed somewhere, somewhere he might never be found?) Had someone else come for his body? (Friend or enemy; oh God?)

She increased the brightness of her wandlight, and examined the pools of blood carefully, making sure not to step into them and obscure whatever signs there might be.

There were no drag marks. No prints of his dragonhide boots, either. There were a few scuffed marks near to where the body itself had been, where someone had perhaps knelt beside him, careless of the blood.

Hermione swore aloud, quite deliberately using the worst language Gryffindor and Slytherin boys alike had taught her.

In the distance she could hear Voldemort offering his one hour truce to the defenders, giving them the chance to retrieve their dead. God, the irony. _Her_ dead was irretrievable.

She needed a better Time-Turner. She needed, damn it, a better idea of the exact times at which Nagini had struck Snape, Voldemort had left the Shack, and the three of them had left. She had to avoid those moments. In some of them, after all, she herself had been present in the Shack, either in the tunnel, or in the room itself. A double presence was incredibly dangerous, Professor Dumbledore had impressed on them in third year, when they set out to rescue both Buckbeak and Sirius.

Defeated, she returned to the castle, where she and Poppy Pomfrey and Minerva McGonagall wept briefly on each others' shoulders, before they returned to present duty, and Hermione sat down to think what alternative action she might take.

As well as a better Time-Turner, she needed better knowledge of them. Kingsley had suggested coming to work for the Ministry when she had taken her NEWTs, as she was determined to do. He had made it clear it was a serious job offer. Perhaps she would see if she could apprentice in the Department of Mysteries, rather than with the Aurors.

∞∞Ω∞∞

  


  
**#2 The Trainee**   


Hermione found the Department of Mysteries even more interesting than Minerva and Kingsley led her to expect. She also found that they had very strict standards for trainees, and that Time-Turners, like many of the more complex magical devices hidden away there, were out of bounds to trainees until they had served, at the least, a time in each of the Department's sections. It was two years before she was able to confirm that there were, indeed, better Time-Turners available than the ones designed for short-term use, though she still wasn't allowed to get at them.

At about the same time she discovered that there was a long-running project whose staff attempted to communicate through the Veil, and that they were having some success. (She immediately resolved never to mention this to Harry who, now an Auror, was entitled to some of Mysteries' less arcane information.)

Mysteries became more interesting with every year.

By now, whatever her impatience to help and retrieve Professor Snape, Hermione had realised that she had all the time in the world to prepare herself. (She continued her mediwitch studies on the side, which astonished no one: the people most suited to the Department of Mysteries seemed capable of pursuing several interests at once, and their senior management found it convenient to encourage this.)

She had also given a lot of thought to whether she might do well to look into some other means of saving Snape than simply to travel back to the time he had been wounded almost to death, in the middle of a battle. She had a whole notebook full of options, with increasingly long lists of pro and con for each, plus some rigorous speculation on what, exactly, she might get a Time-Turner to do.

At last Hermione was moved to the Time Section, though she was still not allowed to play with time travel, as such. Instead, she was introduced to that device which she had seen at the end of fifth year, the one in which an object rotated continuously through all its forms. Fortunately, she was not expected to observe anything so horrifying as what she had seen then: the Death Eater trapped within its field, morphing between babyhood and adulthood. Her new section supervisor explained to her that studying the Arithmantic equations associated with this device was the most useful way to approach the study of time.

Hermione studied diligently, therefore, and began a new notebook wherein she experimented with Arithmantic means of assessing her best approach to rescuing Professor Snape.

Eventually she decided on a bold move, one which might not only save Snape from death, but make his life, if not easier, at least one of greater assurance of success in his efforts to bring Voldemort and his Death Eaters down. By now she accepted that there was no way to save him from those years as a double agent, though she might be able to relieve his frustrations as a teacher and his fears as a secret opponent of a terrifyingly skilled wizard. Without Snape, the battle would almost certainly never have been won.

Sometimes she had fantasies of talking him out of joining Voldemort, of never becoming a Death Eater, but she knew them for what they were: foolish. The resentful boy who had been harried all his life, and who towards the end of his school years had been forced to face the loss of his only friend, the person he desired as a lover, to his principal tormentor, was not likely to be mature enough to put humiliation, pain and loss behind him.

No. But she could give him guidance, warn him of traps, encourage him, promise him success.

She had to find him first, of course, but she could identify almost to the moment when the Severus Snape of fifth year had been assaulted by James Potter and his friends, after their OWLs examinations. She also knew exactly where Snape had been before he was assaulted. She could find him, reading under that tree, in time enough to warn him, tell him what was to come.

And if he chose to profit from that information not to insult Lily Evans so fatally, it probably wouldn't make much difference. A girl who would think it moderately funny that one friend should hang another upside-down in the air, in sight of everyone, was no longer a true friend, however much Snape told himself that it was that insult which had lost him his relationship with her. Lily would still pair up with James, and abandon Severus. He might find the aftermath marginally less painful, however, if he was not blaming himself.

Her best opportunity would be after everyone went home for the day (probably well into the evening). She could help herself to one of the new model Time-Turners that had been created after the existing stock had (only mostly) been destroyed, and take the journey back in years. Only then would she Apparate to Hogwarts with it, go to Severus's tree, and take a separate, shorter journey to the afternoon of that day that Severus thought had changed his life. Simplest of all would be to do it on the anniversary.

So in early May, near the end of her third year as an apprentice in the Department of Mysteries, Hermione stole the Time-Turner, and locked herself in her office (a new privilege). She hung its chain around her neck and activated it, setting the little dials with great care.

Her back hurt, and her bottom, and her arms were waving frantically, trying to keep all that cloth off her face; she whimpered, the need to scream out her terror rising. She couldn't see, and there was something heavy lying across her chest. Once she managed to get her mouth free, though, she calmed down, even though her vision was very fuzzy.

She found herself thinking, "Hermione, what have you done _now_?"

Her adult mind had abruptly come back, and come back to awareness that her body was that of a child. She brought one hand close to her face, and saw a plump baby's fist. What have you done, indeed.

How many other traps did Time-Turners hold, that no one had warned her of yet? This was a doozy. When you used a Time-Turner were you always limited to your own lifetime, as she seemed to have been? Better than timing oneself out of existence, for sure. Was that some law of physics that even cunning wizardry could not break, that one couldn't go further back than one's own lifetime? Or was it a wizard's precaution, to prevent meddling too far with the world's past?

Was this a safety precaution set on the new type of Time-Turner, or had it always been there, something that senior Mysteries staff alone were aware of? Indeed, she had gone no further back than full consciousness. For which she was thankful. She might be able to get herself out of this, instead of having to hope that someone, twenty-one odd years ago, had gone (would go?) into this room and find a baby tangled up with a Time-Turner. The Department of Mysteries wouldn't look favourably on an apprentice who experimented recklessly and against orders with a highly restricted magical device.

Hermione screamed, shocking herself with the high baby's cry, and even more with the baby's rage at helplessness; but it relieved a little of her frustration. Perhaps instead of speculating uselessly, she ought to pull the damned thing up to where she could see the dials, and hope that her clumsy, weak baby fingers could manipulate them.

She gripped the chain and pulled. Yes. And there was the Cancel button, which would reverse the settings. She gripped the Time-Turner hard and set a fat little finger against the button carefully, before she pushed it.

Yes.

Oh, thank God. Thank Merlin. Thank all the powers that protected prideful idiots.

She was thankful that she was wearing the loose robes of wizardkind, instead of the close-fitting Muggle jeans and pullover of her at-home practice; she might otherwise be half strangled by her own clothing. Her back still hurt, but not so much.

She removed the Time-Turner's chain from her neck with gingerly care, and set it aside. Then she turned over, curled up in a ball, and wept briefly, for Professor Snape, still lost and inaccessible, and for herself, still unable to reach the person she was, as she had to acknowledge, dangerously obsessed with. She also shook with fright at what she had almost done.

She would just have to wait. Yet again. And study longer, and gain official access to Time-Turners and all knowledge pertaining to them.

And perhaps work at having a life. Working with George seemed to made Ron grow up a lot; certainly he was more responsible now. Maybe she could trust him to stick around after all.

∞∞Ω∞∞

  
**#3 The Unspeakable**   


For the next couple of years Hermione set the Snape Project aside. She had frightened herself badly, and decided she should wait until she was officially considered suitable for advanced Time-Turner work. Ignorance was not a good basis for action. She had also recaptured her feelings for Ron, and developed the trust she had been unaware of needing, as an adolescent caught up in attachment and intimacy. Her dreams of Snape receded, and she was glad. It was better to have a real live man, with whom one could live.

Their marriage made them both happy, even as it taught them not to have unrealistic expectations of each other.

Only, after a while, the pressure to have children increased, from Ron quite as much as from Molly. (It wasn't as if Molly lacked grandchildren. Bill and Fleur had three, now, but Fleur managed to keep her distance. Hermione wasn't at all sure she, any more than Fleur, wanted Molly to have much say in the raising of her children.)

At last Hermione said determinedly, "Ron, if I agree to have two children now, when my responsibilities at work aren't so great, will you be content, and not push for more? Ideally, of course, a girl and a boy. I'd want to stop at two, so that I can go on working, and still pay each of them proper attention."

"That'd be a good start," Ron agreed. "I'd like a little girl with your curls, Mione."

Hermione rolled her eyes. It wasn't the first time they'd negotiated their way through to something that worked for both of them, though, so she persisted, trying to pin him down to an explicit agreement.

"Will you go on pressuring me to have as many kids as your Mum, and to stay at home with them for the next ten to twenty years? Because that might make you happy, but it won't me. I'm not your Mum. I want a different life. Even if I had seven kids and had to stay home with them and scrimp and save to raise them on your salary, Ron, I wouldn't be your Mum."

"I know that," Ron agreed hastily. "It's you I want to be married to. And I know you'd hate scrimping and saving, and yes, I know you earn more money than I do already. You'll go on earning more, I expect, and the kids will need that money, if they're to have the clothes and toys I'd like for them – and the right stuff for Hogwarts, too. Mum loved us all, but she didn't always _notice_ us, and we weren't all happy doing without, just to be a big family. I'd like my kids to be noticed, as well as loved. If you think two is manageable, let's do that. They'll be company for each other."

Hermione nodded. "I think that's important too, Ron. I grew up alone, and I don't want that for my children." She smiled a bit ruefully. "I grew up a bookworm, and bossy, and addicted to doing things my way. If our children can learn to give and take better than I did, I'd like that, too. It's too late for me."

Ron repeated, "It's you I want for my wife, books and bossiness and all, even if it'd be nice if you'd listen when I talk about the Cannons."

Hermione laughed. "When you listen to me going on about Arithmancy."

Ron laughed too. They had a cuddle, and took some enjoyable practical steps with those two children in mind.

∞∞Ω∞∞

Rose came along, and Ron mostly concealed his disappointment that she wasn't a boy, as he'd confidently expected. (After all, his parents had six before they got the girl they wanted. He was careful never to ask himself how many of those six boys were strictly surplus to requirements.)

Hermione saw enough to say tartly, one day when she was tired with the demands of a baby on top of work and a fairly undomesticated husband, "Isn't it better to have the girl now, Ron? That way, we've got fifty percent of our children."

Ron was wise enough to refrain from saying hopefully that maybe it wouldn't be a boy next time, either, so they'd have to keep going. He thought Hermione might clock him, if he did. Neither of them was getting enough sleep.

Even so, soon enough Hermione agreed they should start work on the second child.

"Work?" Ron enquired, feigning injured pride.

Hermione laughed, and evaded the hand he reached out to her, heading for the stairs and their bedroom. "Fun?" she suggested. "Might as well have it while Rose gives us the chance. With two, I don't know how much fun we'll be fitting in."

"I can see it now," Ron agreed, leering at her as he caught up. "I'll have to make the most of my opportunities."

He could see her point that getting all the pain of child-raising out the way in one dreadful hit might have advantages (at least, the kind of pain Rose was currently giving them).

So Hugo arrived, and Hermione took longer off work this time. It made the first year much easier.

When she went back to work, taking both children to the crèche an intermittently considerate Ministry now provided, Hermione found her supervisor expected her to get down to serious research and experimentation. Hermione was surprised at how happy she was to meet that expectation. Children were more interesting than she had expected, but their company was not intellectually stimulating.

Her supervisor also encouraged her to follow the interest he had noted she had in Time-Turners. Hermione learned a great deal she had not known, and that she suspected her teachers at Hogwarts had no idea of, and began to think about Snape again. She thought he might have had a genuine interest in what she was discovering; she wondered what suggestions he would have made, had she been able to discuss her work with him. Of course she could not discuss it with Ron; Unspeakables were required to be literally silent about their work, but she knew he wouldn't care. The only theory issue Ron took an interest in was Quidditch plays. George did most of the product development for the shop, though Ron had proved to be a remarkably good manager. So she held talks with Snape, sometimes, in her head, when a problem was intransigent. It worked. She was a good enough practical Arithmancer now to be able to calculate around the recursive problems that using a Time-Turner would cause, given the slightest inattention, but stepping back enough from her work to imagine what someone else might think of it turned out to be a productive discipline.

When Hugo joined Rose at the local Muggle primary school (Hermione firmly rejected Molly's offer to home-school them; she didn't want her children ignorant of, and possibly disdainful of, her own background), Hermione started planning for the next step in the Snape Project. Somewhat guiltily, she didn't tell Ron about that. It was just like a work project, she rationalised. He had learned to minimise the amount he shared with her about his work projects, after all, even if he was a little irritated occasionally that she and George had long technical discussions about the use of potions and charms and transfiguration in creating new Wheezes.

Hermione found herself giving more thought to when might be the best point to return to, in Snape's life. The Time-Turner practicalities were much less of a worry, now, and the latest devices, in whose development she had a share, offered scope for actions the Hogwarts professors' Time-Turners didn't allow for.

She was fairly reconciled to knowing that it would be difficult to make Snape's life easier for him. He would have had to take very similar steps, after all, to achieve the victory they had all laboured for. It might be even harder for him, if he had to take those steps, knowing that acting differently would be dangerous. Wouldn't it be worse to be hard on Harry, if he understood there was no need to hate Lily's son out of his own grief and guilt?

So perhaps she should concentrate on warning him to be prepared for the final battle, and for Voldemort to turn on him, in the belief that Severus had mastered the Elder Wand. He needed to be Nagini-proofed. He would have a better chance of living, then, and she could, perhaps, later, be that mysterious person who had knelt in his blood and helped him away.

∞∞Ω∞∞

Hermione took herself back to the Easter vacation of the year Snape had been Headmaster of Hogwarts, Disillusioned herself, and walked up to the great doors, wand in hand in case of random Death Eaters. It felt odd to be eighteen again, and as skinny as she had been in that camping-out-and-starving year, instead of slightly plump from baby-making and a comfortable life.

She knew a great deal more about Snape than she had done at eighteen. She had finally persuaded Harry to share Snape's Pensieved memories with her. Both of them, after all, respected and admired him, and regretted his absence from the modern wizarding world, as Ron certainly didn't, even now. So she had a good idea of where she might find him, when he had minimal official duties, but still enough to keep him at the school, rather than at Voldemort's side. She knew his password for the Headmaster's office, too. A detail that might have impressed Harry and convinced him of Snape's faithfulness almost as much as Snape's love for Lily.

She approached the gargoyle cautiously, checking for traps and alarms, but found only the wards it was reasonable to expect from a Headmaster who was also a Death Eater who couldn't trust his confrères. She worked her way past them respectfully, and cast her own revealing charm through the door.

Snape was there. He was still, except for one moving hand, and regular to-and-fro eye-motion. Working, then. Calmly. She knocked on the door.

He would know, of course, that someone had by-passed his precautions, but the knock might give him some assurance that it wasn't ill-meant.

She opened the door, slowly, and stepped in to face the grim gaze and the levelled wand. He didn't appear worried, just mildly irritated.

The irritation deepened. "Miss Granger. What foolishness brings you here?"

"A desire to help," she answered promptly. He would react badly to any equivocation, she was sure. "I'm not the Hermione Granger you know."

One eyebrow lifted, even as he laid his wand down.

"Shut the door. Sit. And explain how six months on the run has altered you completely."

The sarcasm didn't discompose her. She was used to worse, at work, and dished it out herself, on occasion. She chose the most comfortable looking upright chair and waved it wandlessly to a position across his desk from him, and seated herself, crossing her ankles and leaning back slightly. She saw him register her ease as well as her ability.

"That Hermione Granger is living in a tent with two boys, on mushrooms and weeds and the occasional fish. Not nearly enough fish. _I_ am thirty-three, married, with two children at school." She lifted the Time-Turner chain and pulled it out from inside her robes, before tucking it away.

He narrowed his eyes at her. "So why are you here?"

"To help, remember? I can tell you that you won. You and Harry between you saved us all. That hasn't happened yet. There's some specific information I want to give you, that you will very much need –"

"If we won, what do I need to do differently, that you feel you must tell me about it?"

"You deserve to live," she said starkly, "and I believe what I tell you might make that possible."

He sagged slightly, then braced himself, and became utterly expressionless. She knew how that felt.

"That I would not in any case do?"

Heaven forbid he show her his feelings. She didn't let that distract her.

"Have you made an antidote to Nagini's poison? Do you carry at all times the potions that might let you live, if she bites you?"

"Ah. No, I don't. I've thought about it, but it would not be an easy task, and there's no reason she should set on me."

"Save her master's misconceptions."

"He doesn't discover my allegiance?"

"No. He wanted – wants, something he believes only your death can give him. During the battle. The only battle, the last battle. You have time to develop that antivenin, haven't you? Between now and the full moon of May?"

He didn't answer at once, and she hoped that meant he was considering the problem seriously.

"I believe so." After a moment he said, "I do have some of her venom, held under stasis. Just in case I changed my mind about the urgency."

"Then please take it seriously. We could do with you, in the world you helped to make."

He was quick, and unflinchingly said, "I'm not in your world, am I."

"Not that I know of. But we had no body; there is no ghost; your portrait in this office doesn't communicate. You may, without my intervention, have somehow survived, and sought privacy and solitude. I have no way to know. But what I'd like, what others would like, is for you to be a part of our lives. For you to have the fruits of peace, not just the struggle to achieve it."

"So your world is perfect?" His tone was lightly mocking.

"I don't think you'd be bored," she answered wryly. "There's plenty that could stand to be fixed. Hey, it's the wizarding world; what else?"

He smiled at that, however faintly, then said gently, "But if I am not in your now, how will that change?"

"Trust me to work for it?" To offer him more than an unsupported statement of intent, she added, "I'm a fully qualified Unspeakable, part of the current Time-Turner development team. We have made advances on what the Department of Mysteries held in my fifth year, you know, before we wrecked the place."

"Did they ever fine you for that?" he asked, seemingly interested.

"No, unlike Gringotts." She bit her lip.

"So you got across the goblins?"

"Yes. But I'll tell you that story later."

"And who won in that confrontation?"

"They would say me: I say them. I do some Arithmancy projects for them, still. On the other hand, they're still paying off their fine for being so obliging to Voldemort."

"If you're breaking even, you've done well," he commented. " Miss Granger, is this an official Unspeakable project?"

She shook her head. "It's my project. It's been my project since the second of May, 1998."

"So that's the battle date. The full moon."

"It began earlier in the night."

He nodded. "I'll be careful. Is there anything else you feel you must tell me, Miss Granger? Mrs…" His voice trailed off invitingly.

She smiled and shook her head, though she longed to tell him how important, how urgent it was that he should save himself as well as the wizarding world. It didn't occur to her until later that he was fishing for her husband's identity. She wasn't thinking about Ron at all. Ron wasn't part of this project, this obsession, this life's work.

She had done what she came for. She must not take up his time, even though this was the first time they had interacted as adults, and she would have liked to extend her acquaintance with him. Especially as he was being courteous. He had believed her and not scoffed or derided her. She should go. But perhaps first she should offer him some hard proof of what she had said. She would not be the only one to suffer dark nights of doubt; she ought not to add to his burdens.

"I'll leave you to your work in a moment, but first –" she drew from inside her robes what appeared to be a photograph, and held it out to him.

He took it, raising his eyebrows. The two children in it, rugged up for winter so that only their faces were visible, were concentrating on a kneazle kitten, and did not look up.

"Your children?"

"Rose and Hugo," she agreed. "But it's also my identity card for the Ministry. If I touch my wand to it –"

He held it back across the desk to her. She took out her wand, touched the picture, and silently spoke the spell. The photograph changed to a stiff card, which held her picture: a woman in her early thirties, in Unspeakable uniform, with her name (her maiden name, which she used at work) and the seal of the Unspeakables, with the signature of their chief sprawled across it. Not the wizard who was currently in charge of that department, but a name he would know as a Dumbledore supporter, a member of an old pureblood family, and a high-ranking Unspeakable.

"Heribert Bones. Well, that make sense."

He looked for a while at the card, glancing swiftly up to compare her future face with the one more familiar to him, before he handed it back. Another wand touch, and she slipped the picture of her children back into the special pocket inside her robes.

"Thank you. How long have you been an Unspeakable?"

"I apprenticed when I was nineteen, nearly twenty, after I did my seventh year at Hogwarts. So, for fourteen years."

"And you're on the Time-Turner development team, you said."

She nodded. "That's not my only responsibility. Many of us are involved in several projects, to greater or lesser degrees." She smiled a little ruefully. "Director Bones doesn't believe in letting us run the risk of becoming focussed on a single issue for long. There are a few old Unspeakables who are interested in one area of study only, and it's too late to change them. He wants us flexible."

"And have there been similar changes in other Ministry departments?"

"Yes, and still going on, of course. Twenty and more years of having – him looming over wizarding society created some distortions." She met his eyes and smiled more broadly. "You might like to know that Dolores Umbridge is in Azkaban."

"Minerva would be delighted to hear that. What a pity I can't tell her." For a moment it looked as if he relished the knowledge too.

He became more serious; indeed, he looked tired suddenly, and suddenly uglier, the sallow skin, the over-large nose and the crooked yellow teeth more evident. "Is there anything you can tell me of my Slytherin students in your future, Miss Granger? I have never, as you might now understand, been able to lead them openly away from his influence, and children do not always perceive subtle suggestions in the guidance I have been able to give, not even Slytherin children."

Yet another burden he must have carried for a long time. That, at least, she might help with, a little.

"Some good news, some bad," she answered steadily. "Those who followed him of their own accord, not only in belief but in action, who survived the battle, are in Azkaban. Most with limited sentences, for what that's worth, but at least there are no Dementors there now. There's still a lot of prejudice, though, even against those who would have preferred to oppose him, but did not, for their families' sakes, even if they took no action in his support. But they have help. Professor, none of your students are outcast and starving, or exiled. The Malfoys –"

She broke off as he flinched. Then she said, "It might be best if I don't give you names. I was going to say, though, that Lucius Malfoy runs a program to assist Slytherins to get appropriate jobs, and Narcissa has organised a charity which helps Slytherin children orphaned or otherwise disadvantaged by the war. She works hard at it, too."

After a moment he responded dryly, "She probably needs to."

"Yes. But one of the Slytherins in my year is a colleague in the Unspeakables. Another is a Healer, well-regarded by St Mungo's. Three others have Ministry appointments, and not as mere flunkies. One," she smiled, "is a personal aide to the Minister, and is notorious for protecting his work time from interference by Wizengamot members who wish to argue with him."

A very brief flicker of amusement acknowledged that as a suitable task for a Slytherin.

"May I ask…"

"Ask and I shall answer, good or bad."

"Draco? Do his parents do that work in his memory?"

She was relieved. He might have asked about Theo Nott. "Oh, no! Draco is free, engaged in managing Malfoy businesses, married, happy in both, and with three children already. He says he's taking no chances of Malfoy property going outside the family just yet, or being neglected for political interests, either."

"And his wife says?" That was very dry.

"Three children in five years? I'd have found that hard. But they do have house-elves, and she seems happy to stay at the Manor and raise them. Draco loves those children; they're not just insurance. They have doting grandparents, too, though you'd never think it, listening to Lucius."

"You speak as if you know him. Them."

She nodded. There was no need to tell him she had made a point of becoming acquainted with those she believed his friends, few though they were who had survived. If he did live, he would find friends waiting.

"Lucius made a big effort, after the war. Not just to evade the penalties the Wizengamot might have thrown at him. He still thinks purebloods _should_ be in charge of the wizarding world, but he now acknowledges that Muggleborns have skills and powers to contribute. No doubt he secretly acknowledges it's not, at present, the time to campaign further for pureblood dominance, either." She grinned wickedly. "His charities are Slytherin focussed, naturally. But one of his secretaries, as well as his chauffeur, is a Muggleborn, and he's certainly polite enough to me. And to anyone who'll be polite to him."

That last remark was due to Arthur Weasley's on-going hostility, but that was personal rather than political, now. They had a long and unfortunate history, going back to Hogwarts. If Ron followed his father in doing his best to ignore and deride the Malfoy family, Hermione's private as well as professional life gave her opportunities to develop relationships with them as with other Slytherins. Ron didn't bother complaining of it, any more. It gave him more time to devote to following the Cannons, after all, if his wife served on various charity boards and believed she should help to diminish the divide between Hogwarts houses that the Sorting Hat had preached about. He recognised that Hermione was as determined to pursue social justice as he was to support his favourite Quidditch team.

Professor Snape was discreet in the questions he asked, but she was happy to encourage him to realise that a better world had followed the one he knew: it might make him work harder to join it.

When she finally rose to leave, she said, "You would be able to collect your Order of Merlin – and the pension that goes with it – if you can survive Nagini."

Interest as well as amusement at her open attempt at manipulation gleamed in the black eyes, before he said, "Thank you for your efforts, Miss Granger, and for your care. I will certainly try. If I don't succeed, at least in failing in that I'll know I did not fail in the more important things."

He invited her to use his Floo, but suggested Hogsmeade would be a safer destination than London. She took his offer, knowing that if she were somehow observed, either in Hogwarts itself or in the grounds, it might make difficulty for him as well as her.

From the back barroom of the Hog's Head, where Aberforth Dumbledore studiously ignored her arrival, Hermione used her Time-Turner to return to her own time, rather than attempting to do so from Unspeakable offices in the Ministry. That would have been reckless in the extreme.

The back barroom was as deserted as when she had left Severus Snape's time, as she had thought it would be, but she paused on her way out for a short chat with Aberforth. She didn't buy a drink, though; she thought any stimulus, just now, might make her current mixture of exhilaration and apprehension explode into hysteria. Better to go in to her office and do some necessary paperwork and let herself calm down, having succeeded, at last, in speaking with Snape, and having the hope that she might, later, succeed in helping him to live.

∞∞Ω∞∞

  
**#4 The Woman**   


Working in Mysteries, and having rescuing Professor Snape as her principal hobby once more, using work resources, didn't leave Hermione a great deal she could talk with Ron about, when they could relax at home, after the children were in bed. Ron wasn't nearly as interested as she in their schooling, while she was the parent who tried to participate in it, the socialisation as much as the study. Politics bored him, though it concerned her; he didn't want to listen to her discussing it at length. So rather more of Hermione's time with her husband was spent listening to Quidditch reminiscences and speculations, though she was relatively happy to talk about the shop, or even about Harry's career, despite Ron's mild jealousy that he had never, after all, become a famous Auror like the Boy-Who-Lived.

Because she expected, or hoped, to be busy with Professor Snape once she had him away from Nagini and the Shack, Hermione decided to wait until both children were at Hogwarts before making what she trusted would be her last, her most successful, journey into the past.

By that time, however, her marriage was effectively over. She and Ron had lost whatever passion they had had for each other; Ron's interest in both Rose and Hugo had diminished as it became evident that in their minds, if not so much in their looks, they took after their mother. Having a sibling and close cousins, however, had encouraged in them the Weasley delight in pranks and other naughtinesses. Hermione now acknowledged that she had been a solemn, almost humourless, child, and wasn't sorry her children had achieved a better balance. The brightness, determination and willingness to pay attention to detail which they shared with her made them quite as appalling pranksters as their cousins and uncles, but she could live with that. Hogwarts would probably curb that better than she could. Mothers, after all, were supposed to complain. Professors who were not amused were harder to evade.

Ron celebrated the departure of the Hogwarts Express for the start of Hugo's second year at Hogwarts by saying, "I'd like to go home and pack now, seeing I have the day off: George closed the shop. All the kids are somewhere else, today of all days."

"Pack? Were you going somewhere?" Hermione tried to pay attention to Ron's business trips for George (who was less willing to leave his wife and children, even for profit or possible new Wheezes), but there had been times when she hadn't listened carefully enough, she knew.

She was prepared to be apologetic, until Ron said, "Look, Mione, there's no point in us going home together. This last year without the kids proved that. You haven't asked me to leave, but I don't want to stay. Why don't we just say, 'It's over,' and move on?"

Years of biting her tongue when irritated with Ron made her suppress the desire to demand whether he had taken a lover. It was not as if she cared, very much. Still, it pinched at her pride to be the one who was left behind.

So instead she said, "Where _are_ you going, Ron? Make sure you take everything of yours with you. There'll be no coming back."

Ron took a deep breath, apparently relieved she hadn't flamed him like an angry Horntail, and answered, "The flat above the shop's been empty for years. George is fine with me living there. It'll be better for managing the shop, too, now we have a Hogsmeade branch as well as Diagon Alley to keep an eye on."

It was somehow less insulting to be abandoned because Ron found his job more interesting than his marriage. No doubt the Weasleys would close her out again, but she didn't care very much about that, either, now her children were at school and not so dependent on the company of their cousins or the interest of their paternal grandparents.

"Fine. I'll see you at the divorce hearing, then. Pansy Parkinson will see to the paperwork, I expect; she handles a lot of that."

She nodded curtly and turned away, marching unseeing past Harry and Ginny, walking towards the station exit with their arms around each other's waists. For once she didn't think, "Lucky lovebirds!" She sailed past Draco and Asteria, too.

Ron caught up with her at the end of the platform, though, demanding, "Are you going home?"

"I'm going in to the Ministry, just as I did last year," she said bitingly. "I expect to keep the house, Ron, and for you to contribute for the children."

"You paid for most of it," Ron said, responding to her aggression more mildly than she had anticipated. He added, "I suppose Pansy will tell me what the going rate for children is?"

"I expect she will. Now is that all? I have work to do, if you haven't."

"You want to watch that tongue, Hermione, if you want anyone at all to speak to you. Lighten up! You're just annoyed I walked away first."

"That may be a father's privilege, but it's not a mother's."

Ron did flinch at that, and fell back.

Hermione knew she was being unfair. Their life together had been shreds and patches for a long time, and he would be happier away from it, as she probably would be. Still. She'd been prepared to wait until the children were out in the world, leading their own lives, before suggesting they put a formal end to it.

No doubt he would complain to Harry and Ginny. She suspected that Ginny, fond of her brother though she was, wouldn't give him much more sympathy than Harry, who had strong beliefs about taking care of one's children no matter what else was going on.

Hermione Apparated into the Ministry foyer, and spent the rest of the day chivvying a conveniently slack apprentice who thought that Arithmancy equations just fell into place rather than needing to be nudged and gentled into symmetry. By the time she went home, to a house from which Ron had stripped most evidences of his life there, she had accepted his decision and made her own: she would move on, and make her own life. And it would, by Merlin, be a happy one, filled with satisfactions and achievements rather than irritations and compromises. Passion was a trap; so were dreams.

∞∞Ω∞∞

After that unexpected upset, though, Hermione decided that this was not the time to retrieve Professor Snape. Instead, she decided to wait until Rose and Hugo were done with Hogwarts, or nearly done. That would give her time to find her balance, too, and to adjust to life alone. Just in case her final attempt at saving Snape failed, she wanted to be free to wail her disappointment, or seek distractions, without having to concentrate on children who still needed her. To be free, for once, to be selfish. Or, just possibly, to be pleased with success and to concentrate on a man who would need the most delicate handling. A man who least of all wanted someone else to appear to be taking charge of his life, however much help he might need.

Not long after midnight on the second of May in Rose's second-last year at school, Hermione Apparated to Hogsmeade with equipment given her by St Mungo's, walked to the Shrieking Shack, and entered the hawthorn thicket that had grown from the bush she remembered, of twenty-four years ago. Only then did she use the Time-Turner, and conceal herself, moving gingerly into the shelter of the thorny branches.

How odd to think that she would be a few years older than Severus Snape. It probably wouldn't matter. She had worn those years rather better than he had, after all, with much less stress than he had suffered, and none of the dangers. She was careful not to ask herself if he would be interested in having an "older woman" for a lover. She had better control over her conscious fantasies than she had had at nineteen, and certainly better knew the problems that entertaining them could cause. Those half-waking, half-sleeping dreams, free of conscience or sensible considerations, had done her marriage no good, however much she had tried in the early years to put them behind her.

Besides, a lover was probably the last thing he would be looking for, ever, even if Lily Potter would have less of a hold on him once she was avenged and his perceived betrayal had been paid for with life for her son and security for her world.

A friend, that he might welcome, it had seemed in that long meeting in his office. That she could try with all her heart to be.

On this return to the battlefield Hogwarts had been for that one night, she would wait for events to bring Voldemort, Nagini, Snape, and her younger self and her friends to her. She would wait outside. Only after everyone else had left the Shack would she enter.

After twenty-four years of peace, she found the battle, even from this safe distance, horrifying, terrifying. She closed her eyes and turned her head away.

When Voldemort arrived soon after she did, with the monstrous snake looping along beside him, and Lucius Malfoy following him with every appearance of reluctance, she did watch. Voldemort was as she remembered him, though alight with anticipation of victory. Nagini she had seen only once, in that confused encounter in Bathsheba's house in Godric's Hollow. Voldemort's familiar wasn't less frightening. Lucius looked appalling; run down, beaten both physically and mentally as she had never seen him. Well, Lucius had better times ahead. He would survive, and would have all he most desired: his family, and his freedom. She was here for Severus Snape.

It seemed to take forever before Lucius came out again, sent to find Snape and bring him to their master. And then Snape arrived so quickly, she was taken by surprise. He was alone. Lucius had told her, not so long ago, when he was at last able to talk about those two dreadful years, that Snape had suggested he get as close to the castle as he could, to be ready to find Draco and do whatever he could for him.

Snape entered the Shack, and now it was Hermione's turn to wait, impatience vying with reluctance for Voldemort to leave.

She heard the one scream, and shuddered.

There were no more sounds.

Voldemort came out, followed by Nagini. In the light of the full moon the blood around Nagini's mouth was as easily seen as the cold satisfaction on the snake-like face of her master.

Once he was well away Hermione moved right up to the door of the Shack, though she Disillusioned herself first.

She heard, once more, Snape saying, "Look at me!"

Oh God, it was no better this time, just hearing it instead of both seeing and hearing.

At last, though, her former self and Ron and Harry left. She waited no longer. Snape was lying, partly on the floor, partly propped against the wall, as she remembered him. His eyes were closed. His face was white as bone; his neck was covered in blood, like his robes, like the floor, like his right hand, resting by his torn throat. He seemed not to be breathing. His blood, however, was still flowing from between his lax fingers. Hermione forgot about being careful. She rushed to him and knelt at his side, wand at the ready, to follow the process she had rehearsed with those Healers who had treated Arthur Weasley. First stop the bleeding by healing the wound in his throat with a combination of dittany and magic. Then get the Blood Replenishing Potion down his throat without letting him choke on it. Only then attack Nagini's venom with the antivenin St Mungo's had held in stasis for twenty-six years.

Snape didn't move, didn't recover consciousness; but he was certainly alive. She could see the breath faintly fluttering his nostrils.

Now to get him out of here, to professional help.

She didn't take him out of the Shack before she used the Time-Turner. When she was no longer kneeling in a sea of blood, but rather in a blanket of dust, Snape was still with her. His appearance was unchanged, as she had expected. Despite her confidence in Unspeakable research, Hermione let her head drop and wept briefly, as much from the release of tension as from hope and joy not yet confirmed.

Those experiments in bringing someone forward, across rather than through time, had truly reflected reality. Evie Hurst had been dying, and willing to risk what might remain of her life to prove that one could go forward. Her reward had been, years later for her colleagues, but only a few hours in her life, to be fetched to a time when her illness could be successfully treated. Evie had clearly then been forty-odd still, unlike the fellow Unspeakables who had gained more than ten years. Evie's journey was no longer the only one, and Snape, too, seemed still to be the man Hermione had talked with in his office.

Hermione stood, removed the Disillusionment, summoned the stretcher, applied a Featherlight Charm to Snape's body and laid him on it. Once he was strapped in place she took firm hold of both his hand and the stretcher's side and Apparated to St Mungo's. Millicent Bulstrode was waiting for her, as they had arranged, and immediately summoned the more senior Healers who were prepared to fight for Severus Snape even more determinedly than they had done for Arthur. There would be no apprentice Healer's silly experiments in Muggle stitchery of wounds for Snape.

Standing against the wall of the single bed ward to which Millicent and a colleague had brought Snape, Hermione watched while they all worked over him, until she was almost satisfied he would live. She had been there perhaps an hour when Healer Constable turned to her and said, "Thank you, Miss Granger. We will let you know when you may visit."

That was blunt enough. Hermione bent her head in acceptance, and walked away from Snape, down the stairs, until she could Apparate away to her home. She didn't sleep for the rest of that night, but by morning she was calm, hopeful. Soon after, her Floo signalled the desire of someone to speak to her.

It was Millicent, tired, but satisfied.

"He's doing well," she said at once.

Hermione thanked her. Millicent gave details of what had been done for Snape after Hermione left.

Then Millicent said, "You're not a Slytherin. You owed him nothing. He was always unkind to you. Why did you do this?"

"It's nothing to do with houses," Hermione answered. "He gave his life for us. I wanted to give it back."

Millicent said shrewdly, "You've been working on this for a long time."

"Oh Merlin, have I ever! Ever since that day."

Millicent was startled. "The day of the battle? That long?"

"I worked out an hour or so afterwards that he probably wasn't dead. That if someone could go back to that moment, he might be saved. Might live." She shrugged. "I decided it might as well be me. I wasn't sure how many people would agree with me – you remember, it took some time before the Wizengamot agreed to pardon him, never mind honour him."

"You and Potter certainly worked for that, which was more than most of us could do," Millicent agreed. "You could come to see him tomorrow, Hermione. I don't suppose his temper's improved, if you brought him straight from the battle, on top of his year of being Headmaster. If he's not pleased about what you did, you can deal with his complaints."

Hermione laughed. That was Slytherin indeed, to reward and punish together, and to give Snape company that he had impressive proof was devoted to his well-being.

∞∞Ω∞∞

Hermione went to St Mungo's soon after eleven in the morning. Hospital rounds would be over, and the midday meal not yet served. In so far as he felt better at all, Snape would probably be at his best. If he needed help with his meal, she could give it. If he had questions, she could answer them. If instead he wanted only privacy and solitude, she could give that too.

Snape was clearly tired and in considerable discomfort. He also wished to express his gratitude for what she had done for him, but found it hard to speak. He was excruciatingly aware that he was in a world he didn't know, and was wary of. So he took refuge in formality.

Remembering what the Severus Snape of twenty-four or –five years ago might have said, Hermione fully appreciated his restraint.

She didn't dismiss his thanks, but nor did she seek further recognition.

"I did it for me quite as much as for you. You know what Unspeakables are like, immersed in a project."

Dispassionately he replied, "You lie nearly as poorly as ever, Miss Granger. My perception is that you have shaped your life around what you perceived to be my needs, for twenty-four years."

"Only sometimes," she responded. He needed honesty more than flattery. "Also, I am very stubborn."

"Healer Bulstrode was here after breakfast, and told me a little of what else you have been doing since you left Hogwarts. You seem to have gone out of your way to befriend and assist Slytherins, and tactfully, too, which I would not have expected."

"It took practice to get it right – or fairly right," she assured him.

"Was that also for me?" he demanded softly.

She couldn't lie now, either, so she said, "Partly for you. Mostly for us. For the world. We all need to act differently, if we don't want something like that to happen again."

"Merlin preserve us!" That agreement was heartfelt.

"You're a Gryffindor. You believe in equality and helpfulness, and the greater good. I'm a Slytherin; I believe in advantage, and balance." He stopped, because she was laughing.

"I'm forty-three, not nineteen, Severus. You don't mind if I call you that?" He nodded, still silent.

She sobered quickly. "Nor am I much enamoured of the greater good, seeing what Dumbledore's pursuit of that got us. What I believe in now is equality, yes, but mostly in everyone feeling they have a fair chance. _Perceiving_ equality. I can _hope_ that more people now are willing to let others believe and feel as they wish; but if most people think they will be treated equally by other witches and wizards, no matter what their origins – or House! – that's about as good as it's going to get."

"So you've been working for that."

"Yes, and I would have done so anyway, I'm pretty sure. But thinking, indeed knowing, that few indeed gave you equality, and what came of _that_ , I've been pushing cooperation as steadily as the Sorting Hat."

"Is it still producing that dire doggerel about the Houses coming together instead of tearing apart?"

"Every year," she affirmed.

"How fortunate I am to have missed it," he murmured, smirking slightly.

"Yes, and a whole lot of post-war tearing apart as well as coming together. Things are better now – much better than when I last saw you."

"When you were thirty-three, and married, with children."

She didn't respond, wondering where he was going.

"Miss Bulstrode tells me you are no longer married," he said dulcetly.

"Not for some years," she agreed calmly.

"You were careful not to tell me it was the youngest male Weasley you had married."

"I wasn't thinking of Ron, then, but the Snape Project. I was still very much a Gryffindor, I suppose; it only occurred to me afterwards what you were asking."

He could not conceal his pleasure, though he tried. Was it because she was thinking of him rather than of another man, even her husband? Or because she had started, and stuck with, the Snape Project?

He was silent again, before he said, "Would you pardon me, Miss Granger, if I ask you to return another day?"

"Tomorrow evening? And it's Hermione, of course, since you've allowed me to use your first name. You're tired; I'm sorry. I should have left earlier."

"I am, but there were things I wanted to know. Tomorrow evening would be excellent. Thank you."

∞∞Ω∞∞

Later Hermione thought that she was still pretty much a Gryffindor, blind to a Slytherin's motives. All his questions had been about her, her interests, her motives. And her marital state. He had questioned Millicent about her, too. That suggested a strong interest. He could hardly doubt her goodwill (could he?). Perhaps he had had a few half-sleeping thoughts about more than help and friendship, too, in the three weeks between Easter and May Day.

Whether she was right about that or not, Hermione felt more hopeful than she had done. Perhaps Snape had had thoughts about the future, too, as well as making up for the past.

So when she went to St Mungo's, leaving the Ministry rather earlier than normal, she touched his hand as well as greeting him.

He was lying down, evidently already tired by his day, but his hand promptly turned under hers and clasped her fingers for a long moment.

"There is one question I should like an answer to, Hermione," he said slowly, as she moved back and sat in the visitor's chair. "But do not feel obliged to give it me at this moment. Though I trust you will eventually do so. Your interest is of long standing. Your work has been steadfast, your dedication unfaltering. Was this for a principle, or for a man?"

Damn him for a Slytherin, cornering her like that.

She said so. Then she gave him the truth as she knew it, as she had tried to do from the beginning of this quest.

"It was for both. I strongly felt that _your_ dedication should be rewarded with more than success. With life, with a future, with all good things. Acceptance, and friendship, and the right to choose what to do and how to do it, at last. But," she forced herself to meet his sharpened gaze, "it was for the man too. A man I didn't know, but wanted to know. A man I met, in terms of your life, for the first time, less than a month ago."

"The pursuit of knowledge is always good."

Damned Slytherin. She smiled at him this time, though. That was a promise of his interest. At the least she would have his friendship. At the best, given that he seemed to trust her, she might win his love. It seemed very possible that he wished to win hers. So. She had been patient for twenty-four years. She could do it for a little while longer.

∞∞Ω The End Ω∞∞

**Author's Note:**

> mrs_muggle in her (now deleted) LJ post on _Timetables and Time-Turners_ speculated that "Time-Turner abuse is widespread among the staff." That got me thinking about possibilities, though it's canon that all the Time-Turners in the Department of Mysteries were destroyed in the clash between Harry and friends and the Death Eaters in OotP.
> 
> Additional thanks to my beta reader/cheerleader, who discussed the implications of Time-Turners pretty much _ad nauseam_ , and came up with the idea/limitation that drives this fic, which I haven't seen anywhere else. (Thinking about Time-Turners breaks my brain after a while.)


End file.
